Mortally Wounded
by TheBattyWhiteCrow
Summary: When the Dalish Elf Laeti must kill her best friend of all of time, she finds she cannot cope on her own, but refuses to ask for assistance. Zevran can't stand to watch the spit fire little elf to become the shadow of the woman, but what can he do when the woman he loves doesn't desire him in the slightest?


Mortally Wounded

Dragon Age Fanfiction

**Chapter One**

No Choices Left

It was, as though she had fallen, fallen into the strange, no longer familiar sense of all of it. The blight tainted the world around it, corrupted the people that it touched, paying no conscious mind to the species, or alignments. The small group had imagined that their leader, the Grey Warden Laeti was irreversibly immune to such poisons. A Dalish elf, she always had fire on her tongue, a quick wit that challenged those that put her down for her species, her laughter so often rang across their group like soft music when others claimed she was a fool for her species, that she had no right to be someplace she stood.

'I'm an elf, this is true, you're a man, that is true. Yet, you do not claim that a woman cannot rival your class. Genius, and bravery does not stick to one's skin. Just as stupidity and cowardice does not paint one's flesh. I have made it this far, limit me to my strides and you shall be stunned how quickly I step over your rules and boundaries for my race.' She would say with such a light, airy tone in her voice, as if she spoke something so trivial, and bright. Laeti would toss her head back, her red hair falling to her waist in loose strands in the movement, and her laugh would echo.

The entire group missed her laugh. Though, few would admit it.

Her words struck home to many, who in the group, found themselves one and the same with those of another race, perhaps, not so divided, perhaps not so strange in each other's company. All banded together for one purpose, for one reason, to defeat the Archdemon, remove the tyrant and his influences, and stop the blight from it's path. Laeti's words, though often briefly spoken, rang true, not only to the one she spoke to directly, but with such ease lifted the hearts of those in her company.

Laeti was a strange woman, at first, many of the group had blamed it on several aspects of herself. Alistair had thought she was strange because she was simply a woman. Sten had thought that she was rather strange due to the fact that she was a Fereldon, or perhaps an elf. Morrigan had imagined that Laeti was strange due to the fact she was a Grey Warden (though, Alistair claimed that the Grey Wardens weren't quite like her in any way) even Zevran had thought she was strange due to a single fact, she was a Dalish.

Now, oh, how he realized he was wrong. It wasn't one simple aspect as to why she acted so unpredictably. There wasn't one cause, and there certainly wasn't a single reason. Laeti was stubborn, stating her mind, and refusing any to change it, there had been a saying around camp, that Laeti's spirit was a heavy stone, unmovable, and unweighable. The little Dalish elf held no tattoos on her features, though the Dalish had a custom of having their faces tattooed to honor a specific elven god when they came of age.

No one had asked why, no one had ever cared to take the time to pursue into her past even the slightest.

Now, there was nothing more they desired, then to hear her light and airy tones drift amongst them around the roaring campfire. For, when she told a story, the wisps of smoke turned to spin her tale, and the cackling of the fire pit quietened to delight in her sweet voice.

No one told stories anymore, the fire pit lit up only for the few that lingered by it's flames for warmth, no other reason. Laeti could coax any to hear her tales with such ease, and even the most stubborn of their group took care to stand in the proximity to hear her soothing voice. Laeti had so often claimed that a story was like a tapestry, where one thread tangled with another, and another, and another, until the individual aspects of a story were smeared together into one glorious design.

Now, the fire spat, and crackled, stinking of wet burning moss, and cranky at being started by a hand that was not Laeti. Laeti with her nimble fingers, and pale skin could always so easily start a warm fire from merely a moment's glance of her finger tips. Perhaps Zevran was not the only one of the group to desire such a glancing touch on his own skin.

The woman always had such a bright gaze, with a teasing grin on her lips, she so often pulled others into her playful word games of often hilarity. Though, naturally, not many minded. Laeti had an uncanny ability to stop teasing and jesting just before it stopped being fun, to never tread on one's feelings, to never harm those before her.

And that was exactly what she always did. The kind hearted Grey Warden never fought an unarmed man, never battled a bested man that lay at her feet. Perhaps the only reason that Zevran survived the encounter of their first meeting. He'd desired death so terribly back then, longed for it's sweet release, no longer able to stand the pain this world seemed to bring him at the unending memory of his dearest Rinna.

Laeti, the woman who so easily waved away the worried complaints of her party members, trusted him when no one else would. Beyond all reason, she had confided stories in him, true ones, not like the ones that she spun at the campfire. Ones of her past that so haunted her.

She had just wanted to be better. To make up for the past in which she cringed at the memory. Laeti had spoken to him on many things, most of all being the treatment of the humans she rarely encountered in her Dalish clan. Something she was not proud of, something that weighted on her mind at all hours of the day. She had cared little about the humans, cared nothing for their pasts, their futures, or themselves. To protect those she held dear, she slaughtered them all with the help of her beloved friend Tamlen.

It had been what was necessary, what was needed to be done to undoubtedly keep her clan safe, her family free and her love protected. What cut her the most inside, was how little it worked, those lives she had so easily and coldly discarded because of race and paranoid worry accounted to nothing, Tamlen was lost to her, and she had been forced from her clan into a wild world that so often made her quiver with fear, as much as awe.

Tamlen, ah, she had told him much about Tamlen, the words pouring out of her as though she desired nothing more then a simple cure to her heartache. Not, of course, that she ever asked for such, being a Dalish, she showed none of her weaknesses outwards, never did she shed a tear, never did she show her mourning to any. Zevran, as much as he perhaps desired to be different, was not, her emotions were walled to him, and her mind was blocked to his questions. Laeti would stop her secrets when a catch bubbled in her throat, the most often about Tamlen, and continue some time afterwards, sometimes an hour, sometimes weeks.

Always raw, always hurting.

But, she hid it well, behind that bubbling laugh of hers, and her wild charm. Perhaps even better then she meant to, but her eyes, those misty blue gems showed her deep misery without fail, if one were to simply look deep enough. The single time that Zevran had pulled her aside, and asked her insistantly to confide in him what ailed her, to attempt to soothe her pains, she had merely insisted that she was a strong woman.

The next day, she had purchased a heavy green cloak, and wore it over her armor as they travelled, the long hood falling over her fine features and hiding her eyes from view.

Perhaps it had been more then the Dalish spirit that kept her secrets so close to her tongue, even if they were poisoning her. Perhaps she simply desired not to burden anyone.

It had seemed like herself to imagine herself a burden.

One, any of the company would gladly have carried, had it been the case. But no, she was a strong, stubborn, and charming woman, who lead them in and out of danger constantly, with leadership born from nothing, and never did the company find themselves wounded or betrayed in any sense. She had inspired confidence, many in her mere presence found themselves battling harder then they ever had in the past, to protect those beside themselves that she so treasured so dearly.

She had treated them as if they were her new family, a role that Zevran had not desired to take. Frustratingly enough, the one woman who actually held his heart, didn't desire his body in the slightest, and even kicked him out of her tent when he had so mistakingly imagined that she desired more then an Antivan massage. In truth, the foot shaped bruise on his back still stung as if it had been only yesterday that the lively little Dalish had lived among them.

She had been gone for weeks, not dead, not injured, no. Simply, gone.

Laeti was inconsolable, sitting by the campfire, hood down low, and watching the crackling flames with dark eyes the longed for nothing more then to live in the past. To never see the future once more. It worried Zevran to no end to see her fine features play such a hideaous emotion, and as time pressed on, it darkened his own features to see her eyes darken, the last glimmers of life, of love gone to the spitting fire.

Until, as the days passed, it matched his own gaze before he had planned to end his own life at the hands of the Grey Wardens in an assassination attempt.

**Chapter Two**

Nothing Left To Save

Nothing consoled the miserable woman, and many had tried. Zevran being the first, after the incident, had kept her from lashing out at those that so casually spoke of her defeat of the wild shriek that so desired her death on it's hands. The return of Tamlen had her heart breaking a new, and his death by her own hands, left her shattered.

Laeti hadn't allowed any of those around camp to kill her best friend, the man she had never proclaimed her love towards, and now that she did, it was far to late. No, his death wouldn't be on those for whom he was nothing, giving him the release he desired, the dagger still stained red laid in her lap as she sat by the fire as was always.

Zevran could only watch as the casual remarks that the members made about upgrading watch, and mercy killings of ill tastes and fierce insults to appearances of Tamlen's shriek cut Laeti down with each word. And, for once, he wasn't the first to see it.

To late did Alistair realise that his words cut her deeply. To late did Morrigan glance back to notice the shattered expression of her strange friend. To late did Oghren glance up from his alcohol, to see the misery written on her features for one single, heartbreaking moment.

She'd fled, cloak billowing after her.

The Antivan was the first to rush after her without a moment's pause, close at her heels. By the time he had his arms around her tightly, pulling her to a skidding stop, the look was worse, tears welled up only slightly in the corners of her eyes. He had attempted to persuade her to let those emotions that so poisoned her so deeply into the open air, to take a moment to let them over take her, and mourn for those she had lost. Laeti, being the stubborn woman she had always been, rested her face in his shoulder lightly, and finally convinced she was like one of the many, many of his past, Zevran believed for a moment that perhaps she would, tightening his grip on her slightly, trying to comfort her.

She merely had shook her head, untangled herself from his stunned grip, and strode farther down the path. Zevran, blinking out of his stupor, found himself unable to track the clever Dalish, who desired not to be found. Not that he wanted to. Frustrated, and annoyed, the antivan cursed himself for his foolishness as he strode to camp. Returning to camp, the stares, and worried bodies seemed to match his own. Ages seemed to pass before she returned the next day, told them to pack up camp, and moved on.

The next day, Lelianna had tried her hand, unnerved by the never ending quiet, miserable with the figure that so sat by the fire pit, so familiar yet so distant. Nothing like their friend, haunted by the actions she had been forced to take, broken in mind and body, without the spirit to do anything but keep up the charade.

And, she was really trying. Laeti fought the tears for the longest times, willing the spitting fire to burn them from her mind. Willing the fire to sear her agony away. Laeti was nothing new, she was nothing special, she knew deeply, leaning forwards on her hands, moving for the first time in hours. She was merely a tool for the Blight to end. Something that was forced to lead because no one else did.

She simply needed to live long enough for the blight to end, then this world would be done with her.

Laeti forced the lump in her throat away, no, she didn't trust herself to speak anymore, that catch bubbled up so often, trying to force her eyes to tears. She was Dalish, weakness would never show on her features. But oh, how it hurt.

And hiding it, keeping it to herself, was a poison, deep in her soul. If she had one anymore.

Alistair had attempted to direly to apologize and make up for his mistaken words with the offering of a red rose after Leliana's attempts of speaking with Laeti while braiding her hair failed so completely. Laeti had not insulted her, of course not, she had simply once again as she had for Zevran, not reacted. Alistair tried so hard, fumbling for words, and longing to be suave, he had handed her the rose, claiming that beauty could be found even in this decaying and dark world.

Laeti had simply taken the rose, given him a smile that even she didn't believe, and went for a walk that no one could track. The smile had cut Zevran to the core, even seeing it from the reflection of his blade where he sat across the camp, sharpening the polished blade, he could see the ghostliness of it, the stretched and bitter curves.

How he longed to see her smile that bubbling, beaming grin she always had. Or better yet, the one she only seemed to have for him. But no, it was long gone, lost to the past and it's return. It terrified him to imagine that he had lost the woman he had so entirely desired, so entirely adored to the Dalish pride that consumed her.

Wynne tried next, striding to the little Dalish and spinning an inpirational speech that perhaps would have turned a demon into a well meaning citizen. Laeti simply gave that ghost of a smile that had Zevran cringing, and told Wynne that she would survive. It became a lingering phrase, she didn't claim to be alright, didn't claim to see the light at the end of the tunnel, she simply claimed that she would survive.

Laeti remained by the fire, and no longer did anyone look up anticipatingly for the next tale. No longer did anyone come close, for as time pressed on, Sten became her silent companion, he didn't strive to find something to comfort her with, he didn't batter her with words, or gifts to attempt to belittle or make nothing of her beloved Tamlen. He simply sat beside her as she lingered by the fire, sharpning his sword beside her.

Often times, since her Tamlen's reaperanace, she fell asleep where she sat, listening and relaxing to the simple and repetative noise of the giant sharpening his beloved sword that she had so travelled the lands to find at his one word. Her head on the giant's shoulder, face towards the fire, Sten couldn't help but feel, perhaps, a twinge of pity for this little elf that stared into the fire until she fell over, asleep.

Oghren had tried his luck as well, guilty for his rude words as well, and longing to see that elf that had coaxed him to recall his past, to move from it, to aknowledge his defeats, his shortcomings, and to strive for the sake of others to become better. The dwarf had given her a mug of his own prized brew of ale, hoping the embrace of alcohol would loosen the desperate clutch she had on her mourning, perhaps allowing her the ability to properly mourn the man she had so loved.

Laeti had respectfully, because that was all she ever was to those around her she so prized, turned down the alcohol, and only Zevran seemed to know why. One of the many secrets she had told him so long ago, had included the fact that the one time she and Tamlen had tried alcohol, had resulted in a wild night of borrowing the Keeper's robes, two halla, and an attempt at a fencing tourniment. From what he had heard, it had not ended well. If anything, without meaning to, the dwarf had made the situation worse, though her thoughts could no longer stray from Tamlen, the soft reminder of his presence so ached her in her soul.

Shale had bided her time, before attempting to retrieve the little Dalish elf to her former, spit fire like self. Trying to remind Laeti of the blight around them, and that she served a bigger purpose then to mourn over the dead, and stare into the fires. Zevran bit his teeth together tightly, his grip on his blades turning his knuckles white with anger. As if THAT would help anything.

Laeti simply added guilt to her features, gave that ghost of a smile that Zevran had come to despise completely, and thanked Shale. The look rather haunted Shale, who took her leave quickly after, and sulked by the edge of camp, wondering spitefully whatever made these little squishy creatures so delicate in mind as well as body. And, perhaps, cursing herself on a deeper level for not knowing the right words to say in the least.

Bumu never stopped trying to cheer his mistress up, and the mabari spent every single moment by Laeti's feet, whining in silent confusion on what had changed his beloved mistress into such a stranger. Curled up by her feet by the fire, the mabari didn't even lift his head at the noises of camp that he so used to chase after, his mistress's depression sinking into him, as well as the rest of the camp.

Laeti noticed, of course she noticed, she simply couldn't shake it. She so desired to stand, to fight it back, to claim that she really was, alright, but the world seemed to pass her in a heavy haze, and socializing with others seemed to be a language she no longer spoke. It wasn't gibberish, natuarlly, she simply didn't know what to say to soothe the other. And, it scared her, more then the world she didn't recognise, more then her actions.

The little Dalish was scared, and hurt, and missing the one man who could make her feel all the better with his little jokes, and quick laughs, and big grins. She missed Tamlen more then ever.

And he wasn't ever coming back.

Morrigan was the last one, having watched with her golden eyes how all the others had failed at their attempts, she cateloged the precious information, before striding towards the figure no one seemed to recogonise that sat on a stone by the fire pit, a mabari by her heels, a rose in her hand, and a qunari beside her, slowly sharpening a blade. Cunningly, she had tried to give Laeti some quest to do, taking perhaps, a bit of advantage of the situation, needing the quest done anyway, but it would suit more then one need. Laeti had declined, stating that she was simply far to busy, something that drew the attention of everyone at camp.

Laeti never said she was to busy.

When the antivan elf had muttered something about antivan boots, she had searched all of Fereldon to find a pair. When Sten had finally confided in her about his lost sword, Laeti had turned their own mission around to track down the many rumours of it's wereabouts. Time after time, she had done so to countless, including Shale, Oghren, Lelianna, Morrigan (on a few accounts) and even Bumu!

It simply solidified the fact the woman before them was the shallow ghost of Laeti.

Zevran gave a half sigh, standing across the camp and eavesdropping on the attempts. Throwing the knife in his hand, the blade shook at the impact, impaled on the bark of the tree. "Enough." He simply refused to to allow his warden to fall into the depths of madness, insanity, and grief. She needed to mourn, and it was her own stubborness that wasn't allowing it. Striding over with a quick pace, the stubborn dalish elf was lifted from the stone, held tightly to his chest, and Zevran simply strode of camp. He would not lose the woman he loved once again. Whether or not she returned his emotions.

He didn't know much about Dalish, but he knew what she needed. She had killed someone precious to her by her own hand, using her own weapon. Something that he was so familiar with on his concenciose. Something the others couldn't understand.

"Set me down, Zevran. Now." Laeti snapped, eyes on him, her hood falling farther down her features, and the hem of the cloak dragging on the path. He knew this path well, it was the one that Laeti and himself so often took down to a specific field well enough away from camp, where she had told him such secrets that burdened her terribly just less then a week ago.

"One more moment, warden, surely you can last that long, no? Or has my charm taken you over entirely?" He gave a half laugh, setting her down on the green grass lightly, sitting cross legged behind her. "There it's better, no? No more prying eyes of those travelling companions of yours." Zevran started, a charming half smile finding itself on his features.

He was just a bit better then her with false smiles, with that damned ghost smile of hers. Easily able to put on a certain expression on his features without a second thought, doing so so persuasively that one came to doubt the very idea that it was fake. Zevran wrapped his arms around her stomach, pulling her back to lean on him as he stayed upright, the back of her head finding his chest.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Zevran allowed himself to drink in how much he rather enjoyed the moment.

Laeti raised an eyebrow, opening her mouth in protest, Zevran gave a short laugh, leaning down and pressing a kiss on her lips, a hand pulling that idiotic hood off her marvelous red hair softly. "Tell me about Tamlen." He mumbled, pulling back after a moment.

He wouldn't ever give up on this little Dalish.

She wouldn't be herself tomorrow, she wouldn't be herself within the week. But, Zevran would bring her out of her dark place, he wouldn't give up like he had the first time because it got hard, or he didn't know what to say or do.

He wasn't ever going to let her go.


End file.
